


Let the right one in.

by Piqueniale



Series: Heart to heart, door to door. [1]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - salesperson, F/F, It is an AU, Vampires, Well - Freeform, and it is about being a vampire, is that a thing?, it is a vampire AU, now it is, so you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-02 16:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12730152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piqueniale/pseuds/Piqueniale
Summary: Inspired in cupofcoffin's post: "A cunning vampire door-to-door salesperson who stands in people’s doorways and talks until they can find a convenient moment to drop their pen and the person picks it up and the vampire says oh “Thank you” and the person says “you’re welcome” and the vampire smiles a big fangy grin and steps inside And that’s this vampire’s modus operandi for decades And then the language starts to change and suddenly millenials have homes and the vampire thanks them and they say “oh, no problem” and the vampire is like ???????????????? this was not the plan"Or the one where Carmilla was left after turning and she had to come up with something.





	Let the right one in.

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this while drunk and wanting to try other styles, so yeah. It might be a mess, it might not. Let's just see.
> 
> Now with sober edition!

Carmilla is thirsty.

And, okay, that might be kind of an understatement, but she has not had any blood in god knows how long (she certainly doesn't, time sort of loses its meaning after a couple of centuries having unlimited amounts of it), and it kind of gets hard for her to think of clever analogies. Even more when no one is there to listen because, honestly, she is hilarious and the only people who kind of like her end up with a giant bruise in their necks and little to no desire to ever see her again. It sucks.

Which brings us to Carmilla's current position: the situation sucks, but she has not in a while.

When she was first turned, it was easy: young ladies, discovering their sexuality in an environment where doing so was as difficult as it gets, no one suspecting the poor innocent Carmilla, who had been robbed in the road and whose servant had deserted her. Or whose keeper had ended up murdered, whatever better fit the look she needed to conquest that particular girl. A couple of times she had made the mistake of ending up in a home without ladies, which lead to a quick escape as soon as it had been possible. It was such a wonderful time. But, of course, everything comes to an end (except Carmilla, Carmilla doesn't, and, again, it sort of sucks) after a while, people started being warded and aggressive towards uninvited guests. She used to be so successful. She used to have standards. Right now, she could see herself sucking from a guy's arm (no neck, what an unpleasant feeling is it to have your face scratched like an old vinyl) inside the toilet of any trashy disco.

Women being allowed to work and travel by themselves, without receiving dirty looks, was of great help for Carmilla's, then Millarca, needs. She hated the whole _"allowing"_ , of course, as if men held such power that it was okay for them to forbid anything from a woman that they themselves would not forbid to someone they considered equal. Or, _allow it_ when they deemed. But, taking into account how things were and how she was supposed to marry, she guesses a part of her is grateful. The rest of her just doesn't care enough anymore.

So here Camilla stands, uncaring and thirsty, ringing the bell of some apartment, about two hours away from going all Dracula on the first random guy who smelled drinkable enough. But there are two hours left for that, so Carmilla is focused on doing anything she can not to end up like that. She has had standards for hundreds of years, it would be a shame for all of them to go to waste. Hell, she would take a middle-aged soccer mom right now, if that meant not drinking from a  _male_. Even the thought tasted wrong in her mind.

The door is opened, and the sweetest smell of honey and lemons reaches her nostrils. The vampire's mouth immediately waters with it. Maybe she has less time than she thought.

"Hey." Carmilla awkwardly raises her hand and displays her best _'oh, I am so sweet smile'_ , which is admittedly quite fake and similar to a grimace. She should probably have it all more worked out after so much time doing it.

A dirty blonde stands in the doorway. Dirty blonde, dirty, her blood running down Carmila's throat, hot, everywhere around her, panting against her ears- Enough. Mixing one thirsty Carmilla with the other is never a good idea.

The young girl keeps staring at her mouth, and the brunette can feel herself forming a genuine teeth-baring smOKAY, better not do that. Turns out her fangs must have accidentally grown during her trail of thoughts. Ever since her rebirth, Carmilla has acquired a rare sense of understanding and compassion towards teen boys. She feels for them, as much as they pester her in many other ways. "Excuse me, but who the hell are you?"

Oh, right, the girl still staring warily at her mouth. "Carmilla. I'm the solution to all of your problems, sweetheart."

The tiny gay (come on, anyone in a ten mile radius could sense that) girl stares back. "Yeah, I don't think so."

When the girl goes to close the door, Carmilla pushes her arm against it. "Wait!" In a studied and well-practiced motion, she allows the pen on the magazine she is carrying to drop and roll into the girl's home.

However, the creampuff does not seem to notice, and keeps pushing.

"Wait! My pen!" Carmilla tries again, just as the door is closing down, which is followed by a crack that stops them both dead in their tracks. Or, well, just one. She never quite got that expression, and creampuff here seems pretty alive. Blondie reopens the door, to reveal a blue poodle, with her foot as centre.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't really mean to crush it."

This is it. This is Carmilla's opening. "It's okay. Don't worry." Looking into the flat, she sees a steaming blue mug that looks like a telephone cabin of sorts, and points at it. "Maybe you could repay me by sharing a hot cup of whatever you are having?"

"I don't share my cocoa."  _What a sour cupcake._

"Coffee then?" The vampire offers her best sweet, yet again fake, smile. The girl doesn't respond. "Tea?"

"Look, I am a black belt in seven martial arts and I am not letting you in. I am not interested in whatever God you believe in."

Carmilla had cad been called many things, even many names, in her lifetime, but never ever had she been taken as someone religious. The thought of it almost made her laugh, considering she almost got burnt not too long ago for 'being a filthy deviant witch'. Plus, black belt? That was a new one. She doubted such a midget could even be strong enough to blow her birthday candles more than one at a time.

"Oh, my, my, aren't you a feisty creampuff, uh?" The vampire mocks, fighting the grin that wants to take over her face, and that would, very inconveniently, show her fangs.

"First of all, wow, rude! Second of all, good bye."  _Wait, what? No!_ Carmilla really needs this girl to let her in.

"Hey!" Her hand went to stop the door, but it was too late, and it was already closed before she could react. "You still owe me a pen!"

"See if I care!" A muffled voice reached her.

"Well, I do! And my boss certainly will. You wouldn't want me to get fired now, do you?" Carmilla tried, one last time.

"Well, that would be your fault!"

"Oh, come on, creamp-girl, let me get a pen from you and I'll be out of your hair!"

Reluctant footsteps approached the door, and soon a sigh was heard.  _Bingo_.

"Okay." The door opened again. "And the name's Laura."

"Cool, sweetheart." The brunette teased, aware that probably she shouldn't have, not if she wanted to get any of that sweet honey blood, wet and hot, running down her throat, filling all her body with the most exquisite sensation anyone could ever feel, the taste better than any of the stale one she had stolen from hospitals once in a while. Such a del-

"Wait here. I will come back with one." The girl, Laura, left to go to some room inside the flat. Somewhere Camilla could not reach her.

Fuck, she had missed that chance.

Soon, the human was back. "I didn't know what color you might want so here." Laura opened Carmilla's hand, so very cold skin feeling the warmth of blood circulating through arteries and veins. "There you go." She continued, leaving three pens, -one blue, one black and one red,- on the other girl's extended hand.

"Thanks."  _Last try,_

"No problem."  _Freaking millenials. Cant they just say "you're welcome", like billions had before them?_

Still, when a cutie smiles at you for the first time, one cannot get mad. No matter the context.

"You sure you are not interested in my God? Or my pens? Or anything I might want to sell you?"

"Yeah, pretty sure about that."

"What about me?" Carmilla smirked, as only cats in Wonderland did. She prayed her fangs had calmed down by now.

"You?" The creampuff asks, confused.

"Well, yeah," the vampire leans against the door frame, cocky. "You interested in me?"

"You wish" a blushing blonde replied, rolling her eyes. "Bye, Carmilla."

The door closes once more, the brunette barely moving in time to avoid being caught by it.

"Bye, creampuff." Carmilla smiles sadly, knowing she has lost way too much time and, by now, her only options are going to be less than tasteful. But you gotta do what you gotta do, right?

* * *

Outside the building, Carmilla stands, still thirsty.

The burning of her throat intense, the pressure she feels on her chest heavily weighting her down. She feels as though she has left something behind, yet, she has to move forward to survive. There should be a club not too far away, or a hospital, or something that might help her.

The vampire opens up google, and soon has a destination in mind.

She looks back at the apartments, and she swears she almost smells the sweetest of honeys. The ache in her chest intensifies and, against her undead heart's wishes, her legs move, taking her far away from ink stains and warm girls that could surely do nothing but cause harm to an already beaten soul.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought of this as a one-shot in the beginning, but I might continue it if I feel like it.  
> Find me at rocking-my-socks.tumblr.com or comment here


End file.
